


The Taste of Salt (Living People are Warm)

by MilesLibertatis



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parental Death, Scars, bittersweet fluff, body worshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesLibertatis/pseuds/MilesLibertatis
Summary: “You may not remember because you were about to succumb to your fever, but back then you said living people are warm.” He looked up at Nezumi and met his pained gaze, desperation and anguish making his red eyes seem even brighter than usual. “Prove it to me. I’m chilled to the bone, Nezumi. It’s like her cold has seeped into me. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be warm, to be alive, so please, kiss me and remind me I’m still alive.”-After Karan's sudden death, Shion finds himself losing grasp of what it means to be alive and needs Nezumi to ground him.





	The Taste of Salt (Living People are Warm)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Restructural Committee's Valentine's contest with the theme "Types of kisses". 
> 
> I had an absolute blast writing this! I've been wanting to write body worshipping for these two for the longest time and this prompt was the perfect opportunity. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There are many different kinds of kisses, Shion learned.

Kisses his mother gave him when he visited her at the bakery or at home. Inukashi’s dogs that enthusiastically licked his hands whenever he ran into them at the marketplace. Little Shionn who padded up to him, begging to be lifted up high and messily bumping his puckered lips against Shion’s cheek.

Every kiss he gave and received was dear to him. But his favourite kisses were Nezumi’s. Fleeting kisses as he was stirring the pot on the stove. Lazy morning kisses over complaints about bad breath. Nezumi’s newly developed habit of taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. Kisses before bed and kisses before work. Kisses that made him dizzy and kisses that made him float.  He had never known there were so many different kisses, but now that he was familiar with them, he couldn’t get enough.

-

It was on a beautiful spring day that he discovered a new kind of kiss.

In hindsight, he doesn’t remember much about that week. There’s a vague lingering feeling of the phone slipping out of his hand when the staticky voice apologetically informed him of her condition. Of the rage burning in his veins when Nezumi had held him back as he blindly rushed into the traffic to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Of the numb days when they shouldered the heavy burden of preparing for the funeral. Of the emptiness scratching on his hollow insides as he watched the undertaker cover the coffin with dirt.

His most vivid memory was when they had returned from the cemetery. He had closed the blinds and retreated into their bedroom, closing himself off from the bright blue sky, from the sun smiling down at him, from the world that breathed and lived around him as if she hadn’t just cruelly embraced one of her children in her bosom.

Nezumi had left him to mourn, after having promised to come immediately if Shion called for him.

He didn’t.

-

As the sky outside slowly bled out and turned black, silence settled in their apartment like heavy, stifling blanket. When Shion still hadn’t come out hours after Nezumi had tried to coax him out for dinner, Nezumi grew worried. He was only too familiar to the extremities of Shion’s emotions and knew they were prone to be self-destructive. So he reheated the broth he had set aside for him and took the bowl to their bedroom.

When he knocked on the door, there came no reply. He stepped into the room and quietly drew up to the bed where Shion was buried under the blankets, staring at the wall and his pillow dark with stains. Cautiously, as if he could break him if he spoke too loudly, he said “I brought you some soup.”

It took Shion a moment to reply. “I’m not hungry.”

Nezumi watched him for a few seconds before placing the bowl on the nightstand and sitting down on the edge of their bed. He tentatively reached out and brushed his fingers through his pale, almost translucent hair. Shion inhaled sharply, as if he was broken out of a trance.

Still staring at the wall, he broke the silence. “Mom was so cold in the morgue.” His voice was frail, raw from crying. “I kissed her goodbye, but it didn’t feel like her. Mom is always so warm, but all that warmth was gone.”

Nezumi’s heart ached. Shion was supposed to be brimming with excitement, curiosity and fascination, spewing weird scientific facts at inappropriate moments. Not quiet and broken like this, with red rimmed eyes and tear streaks on his cheeks. _“We look before and after, and pine for what is not,”_ he murmured, letting his hand travel a little lower. His thumb gently brushed over his red scar as he continued, “ _our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught; our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.”_

Shion smiled faintly - Nezumi counted that as a small victory - and scooted a little closer.

“Percy Shelley?”

“Looks like someone has done his homework.”

They smiled at each other. It was a little easier to breathe now. Shion was quiet for a moment until he broke the silence again.

“Kiss me.”

Nezumi happily obeyed and leaned down, softly pressing his lips against Shion’s. It was as if this kiss restored some of the life the recent days had drained from him, as Shion eagerly mirrored the action, burying his hands in his inky hair, effectively messing up his ponytail. Nezumi hadn’t expected the force with which Shion responded and had to quickly catch himself on the bed by placing his hands next to Shion’s head. The taste of salt lingered on his lips. Shion broke away from the kiss and gazed up at him with damp eyes.

“Remember when we were twelve and you were having a fever from the gunshot wound?”

Nezumi felt a pang in his chest. _Remember when?_ Of course he remembered. The memory had stuck with him no matter how much he had tried to push it away. It had kept him sane through the cold and lonely days in the library vault, a reminder that there were still good people out there, and the kindle for a silent determination to see that boy again; that weird, airheaded boy who had saved him against all odds. His hand found its way to Shion’s scar again and he traced the lines with his finger pads. “How could I forget?”

A tear rolled down Shion’s cheek. “You may not remember because you were about to succumb to your fever, but back then you said living people are warm.” He looked up at Nezumi and met his pained gaze, desperation and anguish making his red eyes seem even brighter than usual. “Prove it to me. I’m chilled to the bone, Nezumi. It’s like her cold has seeped into me. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be warm, to be _alive_ , so please, kiss me and remind me I’m still alive.”

Nezumi’s heart both soared and ached. This was one of the many reasons why he loved Shion. In any other situation he would have teased him for saying something so embarrassing with a straight face, but now the only thing he wanted was to obey and love him as much as Shion would let him, as much as he needed him to.

He pressed his lips against Shion’s forehead and heard his breath hitch. “You’re alive, Shion,” he whispered. He kissed his temple, his cheek and tasted the tears that had started falling again. He wiped them away and rested his forehead against Shion's. “You're alive,” he repeated. “Feel the sorrow threatening to drag you under, the anger at life's unfairness; it's a sign that you're living.”

Shion sobbed. He reached up and took Nezumi's face in his hands. “Show me more,” he whispered.

Nezumi brushed his thumb over Shion’s lower lip before kissing him again, a silent promise that he would give everything Shion needed him to give. Gently pulling down Shion's hands from his face, he leaned back and tugged on the blanket Shion was still lying under. He got the hint and pushed them off. Once the blanket was out of the way, Nezumi climbed on top of him. His hand found Shion’s and they shared a loving look before Nezumi leaned down again and let his lips follow the trail of his scar, until it disappeared under the collar of his dress shirt. They hadn't changed out of their funeral clothes yet. Shion had crawled into bed the second he was alone, and Nezumi hadn’t entered the bedroom afterwards out of respect. He met Shion’s eyes. “Can I open this?” It was not something he usually asked, but he did not want to break this fragile moment by taking things to a place Shion wasn't prepared to go.

His worries were put at ease when Shion squeezed their joined hands and nodded. He started unbuttoning his shirt but found it was a pretty difficult task to do one-handed. As he slowly grew more frustrated, Shion let out a watery laugh and let go of Nezumi’s hand. Nezumi shot him a surly look but couldn’t help but grin as well. “Sorry about that,” he murmured as he undid the buttons, with two hands this time.

“It’s fine,” Shion replied fondly, watching as Nezumi undid the last button and pushed the fabric open. Nezumi’s eyes followed the red snake that slithered around his chest. He was no stranger to Shion’s naked body, but the beauty of it never failed to captivate him. Shion tugged on the hem of Nezumi’s shirt.

“You too.”

He looked up to see Shion watching him with intent. He smiled. Of course, it would only be fair. He sat up and undid his own shirt, feeling Shion’s gaze burn as slowly more and more was revealed until he shrugged the fabric off and he bared his own scars to the world. Shion stared at them and Nezumi could only guess what he was thinking. There was pain in his eyes, but also adoration. Shion reached up and hesitantly touched the mark the gunshot had left on his chest. Another trophy of having bested death. A souvenir of yet another time Shion had saved his life. He took Shion’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers, and kissed his knuckles before leaning down again, pressing their hands into the mattress. He brushed his lips over his forehead and wandered down to press kisses onto his pulse points - his temple, his jugular, the centre of his sternum - anywhere he could feel the blood coursing through his veins, the life flowing through him. He heard Shion inhale sharply and couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Shion and his stupidly intelligent brain to notice details like these even in the middle of an emotional crisis. He pressed a final kiss to his chest before sitting up again.

Nezumi’s eyes flicked up to Shion’s before letting his finger pads trace the red snake that coiled around his body. Shion’s breath hitched at the touch.

“The first night you spent in the West Block,” Nezumi spoke, his touch never faltering and his gaze meeting Shion’s, “you had just survived No.6 hunting you down, only for a parasite wasp to hatch in your neck.” He felt Shion stiffen under his fingers but he didn’t look away from him. “You begged me to let you die but you survived. This scar is proof of your strength. You said you wanted to live, and you did. You’re strong, Shion.”

Shion’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and another tear rolled down his cheek. He brought up his hand and bit the skin on the back of his hand to stifle a sob. Nezumi reached for that hand and gently pried it from his harmful teeth. They had left an angry mark and he tenderly brushed his thumb over the bruising skin. “These hands have saved my life countless times,” he continued. “Over and over again, they stitched me back together when I was falling apart, pulled me back from the brink of death.” He saw Shion’s eyes flick to the scars on his upper arm and on his chest and felt them tingle under the attention, almost painfully aware of them.

He pressed another soft kiss to his knuckles before guiding his hand to his bared chest, right above his lungs. “Do you feel your chest rising and falling? Even now your lungs are circulating air through your body, giving you the breath of life.” He moved his hand a little to the right, hovering over his heart, and suddenly he was reminded of that moment in the vault, so many years ago. Shion had asked to know more about him and Nezumi had replied with a similar gesture, taking his hand and placing it on his chest, making him feel his heartbeat. Thus he asked the same question he had back then. “What do you feel?”

Shion seemed to notice the mirror to the past as well, if the widening of his eyes was anything to go by. “My heartbeat,” he replied with a quivering voice.

Nezumi smiled. “That’s right. You’re alive, and that’s all you need to know.”

Shion whimpered. He reached up to Nezumi and pulled him down, burying his face in his shoulder and letting his tears fall freely. “I love you,” he cried. “I love you, Nezumi.”

Nezumi circled his arms around him, his fingers in his hair and his arm around his waist, and guided their bodies to the side. He did not say anything, but he did not need to. He simply held Shion close as he rode through the waves of adoration and grief. When his sobs died down, Nezumi leaned back a bit and wiped the traces of his tears away. “You feeling okay?” He murmured.

Shion sniffed and gave him a small smile. “Yeah.” He scooted up a little and rested his forehead against Nezumi’s. “Thank you.”

Nezumi hummed affirmatively and closed his eyes. They laid there for a while, tired and spent after the long week and exhaustion catching up to them. Right when Nezumi was content to let sleep drag him under, he was startled awake by a loud rumbling noise.

Shion flinched and blushed. “I’m sorry, I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Nezumi reluctantly opened his eyes and lazily ran his fingers through Shion’s hair. “Go have the broth I brought you. It’ll be cold by now, but you’re a heathen so I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Shion laughed. “Not everyone likes their soup piping hot.”

Nezumi rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just eat already.” He nudged his knee against Shion’s leg in an attempt to push him out of bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” He climbed over Nezumi to reach the bedside table bowl was standing on and settled against the headboard. As he ate the (exactly salty enough) broth and watched Nezumi dozing off next to him, he smiled. He was eternally grateful for that day he opened the window and let in the soggy wet rat.

No matter what life threw at them, they would make it through together.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @hi-im-secretly-satan or twitter @soysaucejar!!


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